with a glass of water and two pills in my hand, he’s passed out on my side of the bed.
My shoulders drop at the sight. Setting the stuff down on my nightstand, I debate on waking him up. The way his breath comes out heavily makes me think that may not be the best idea. Clicking my tongue, I take off his typical black boots that look like they’re falling apart and pull the blanket over him.
Glancing at the empty space next to him, I weigh my options. Truth is, I’m tired and have no interest falling asleep on the lumpy couch downstairs or wedged into Ainsley’s twin bed in her room. And sleeping in Easton’s room, somewhere I’ve never been before, makes the decision to crawl in behind him easier.
He lets out soft snore.
I fall asleep quickly to the sound.
A small finger pokes my cheek, rousing me from a deep slumber I haven’t had in ages. When my eyes crack open, I see big round brown ones staring back at me. Groggily, I sit up and yawn, stretching my limbs and glancing at the alarm clock.
Except there’s no alarm clock on the nightstand, or picture frame I’m accustomed to seeing every morning when I wake up. Suddenly, last night’s events came crashing back. Eyes widening as I look over my shoulder at something that captured Ainsley’s eyes, my heart all but stops at the sight of a passed-out Easton beside me. One of his legs hangs out from under the covers I tucked around him, while one of his arms is bent over his face.
In this moment, I’m glad that Ainsley doesn’t speak enough to question why our roommate is currently sleeping in my bed. But as soon as the thought crosses my mind, guilt takes over for even thinking something so horrible. I’d rather Ainsley ask me what he’s doing here than stare at him, blink at me, and say nothing. I don’t even remember what her voice sounds like.
Throat clogging with oncoming emotion that I’ll beat myself up with all day, I climb out of bed and pick her up before making our way quietly out of the room. When my eyes catch the time on the clock, a gasp escapes my lips.
“Oh my God.” Rushing into her room, I quickly pull out a pair of black leggings and long sleeve pink shirt from her closet and then pass her a pair of underwear and socks from her dresser. It’s past seven-thirty. School starts in fifteen minutes and there’s no way I’m getting her there on time for it.
I know I set an alarm last night and even triple checked it. Between Ainsley’s first day back to school and mine, I knew our schedule would be tight. I couldn’t afford either of us to be late, which was a nightmare coming true. I could only assume that my drunken bed buddy turned the alarm off when it sounded because I never heard it.
Cursing to myself as I help Ainsley dress, I pass her the hairbrush from the bathroom and instruct her to get her long strands untangled while I change into the first outfit I can get my hands on in my room. In my hurry, not once does Easton move. I want to throw something at him and yell, but I don’t even have time for that.
Shaking my head at the loose pair of jeans and sweatshirt I’m in, I slide on a pair of mismatched socks and grab Ainsley’s hand to go downstairs. From the kitchen, I grab a banana for her, an apple and yogurt for me, and the lunchbox with peanut butter and jelly, a small bag of chips, and a cheese stick I’m glad I prepared for her last night. Holding my keys in my mouth while I get her into her jacket and boots, I pass her the bright pink lunch pail and nudge her out the door.
It isn’t until I drop her off, get reprimanded by the elementary principal who barely knows me, and get to campus thirty minutes late when I realize I forgot my backpack full of all my class materials and am wearing two different shoes. It’s my third class in when somebody notices the unfortunate fashion choice on my feet, giving me a judging brow.
“Fuck my life,” I groan, sinking into the back seat of the lecture hall that my History of Mythology class is being held in. Thankfully, nobody else pays me any attention as